


Acclaimed

by Violetlyvanilla



Series: Knotting Hill Destiel AU [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alpha Castiel, Destiel Notting Hill AU, M/M, Movie Star Dean, Omega Dean, Omegaverse, Rom com tropes, Tattoo Fic, WIP, a/b/o dynamics, closeted omega Dean, policeman castiel, soulmate fic, truemates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-02
Updated: 2019-06-06
Packaged: 2020-04-06 13:56:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19064056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Violetlyvanilla/pseuds/Violetlyvanilla
Summary: Part 1 of Knotting Hill. As an Alpha, Castiel is supposed to have his truemate’s name appear as a tattoo on his chest on his birthday, the year they are going to meet. Fate was going to bring them together, for a whole year, so that the alpha could woo his omega. It was all going to be very magical and romantic, except for Castiel it (a) doesn’t happen until he’s freaking 40, (b) happens with a strangely behaving jogger in Central Park and (c) he ends up with the name of Dean Winchester, movie action hero, on his chest. Dean only ever plays alphas, he lives in Hollywood, he has no interest in dating small town cops right? So Castiel should just give up his claim right?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic now has a sequel: Knotting Hill https://archiveofourown.org/works/19113745
> 
> Okay since I’m entering this into destielfreshhits I’m not allowed to post followup chapters. So I think I’ll post this as a first chapter meet cute (cliffhanger ending!) and then write the rest as WIP or as fics in a collection. I dunno, I’ll figure it out as I go. Next part should be in a week (I hope). Maybe 3-4 parts (not a long ass WIP fic like usual) (I hope). 
> 
> Written for Destielfreshhits June prompt “Tattoos”. My handicap score is 73 *weeps* 
> 
> WTF is destielfreshhits? Check it out on tumblr https://destielfreshhits.tumblr.com/post/185311623828/destiel-fresh-hits-june-prompt-tattoos
> 
> Find me on tumblr: violetlyvanilla

Every birthday since his 21st, Castiel waited for his claiming tattoo to appear. In his early thirties he consulted a couple of professionals about it. The dermatologist ran some tests to check that his skin was capable of producing the pigmentation for the tattoo to manifest. His physician ran tests on his hormone levels, his alpha testosterone and his reproductive capacity. Castiel was told that he was in everyway a healthy man with enviable alpha testosterone levels and in a moment of professional weakness Dr Hannah Milton even blushingly complimented him on the ‘intoxicatingly refined’ fragrance of his scent. By the time Castiel reached 35, he was resigned that perhaps he was simply never meant to find his mate. He could still fall in love and marry, cohabit or have children. Many betas lived with such freedom of choice. When considered objectively, the very notion was ridiculous that on an alpha’s birthday (the year he or she or they are meant to meet their omega) the truemate’s name would appear on the chest of the intended pair. Then there would be a mere year for the alpha to claim the omega. With the failure to claim resulting in the fading of the tattoo and physical debilitation for the alpha. Elevated blood pressure, heightened cortisone levels - a shorter life span in general, heart failure in extreme cases. The omega though would simply lose the tattoo and could still mate with whoever they chose, though they were then incapable of forming the so called soulbond. What a melodramatic way to reproduce, thought Castiel. No wonder the percentage of the population to be born alpha or omega were steadily decreasing. 

Castiel had an added complication to his omega selection, he knew that the mating lore promised a mate of perfect compatibility, but Castiel did not feel physical attraction to many people in general. He was capable of fantasising about people and indiscriminate about their gender. He liked bright eyes, dark hair, certain tones of voice, warm hands, people who enjoyed quiet pass times, library dwellers, park bench sitters, leather jackets, easy smiles. His attraction was a motley catalogue of aesthetic appreciation and sensorial comforts. Nothing at all to help him pinpoint where he could go to look that would be more likely to offer him a pool of potential mates. On the day he turned 40, he took the day off work, small Maine towns like Angelfell wasn’t exactly heavy on traffic cop duties in the middle of the non-tourist season. His brother Gabriel was performing on Broadway that month so Castiel drove up to New York, caught up with him over brunch (Gabe had a matinee performance) and spent the sunny wintery afternoon in Central Park. People watching and duck feeding and coffee drinking. Since it was his birthday, he bought himself one of those abominable dessert concoction that were being sold in the trendy cafe across from the park. He hoped it contained neither avocado nor quinoa. Turned out it was a decadent buttery donut shaped pile of pastry, filled with chocolate hazelnut spread and topped with gooey chocolate ganache. A jogger ran past him as he sunk his teeth into the tower of sin, skidding to a stop a few meters away and then looking every which way, his nose up in the air. The guy ran around the azalea bush and circled back, still sniffing and frowning. He was warmly dressed in layers of athletic wear and hoodies, sunglasses on, cap pulled low, bandanna pulled over his mouth like a bandit. The man looked to be somewhere in his thirties, though there was hardly any parts of his face visible. His body was broad and athletic and Castiel liked the look of his bowed legs very much. 

“What, uh, what are you eating?” The man flopped onto the other side of the park bench, his eyes fixated on Castiel’s hands. 

“I believe it is a Cronut?” Castiel tried to lick at the corner of his mouth as unobtrusively as possible, three licks and his tongue was still coming back covered in sticky sweet chocolate. It was a very delicious dessert. 

“Fuck,” the man swore. “From across the road? Angel Cakes & Bean?” 

Castiel nodded and the man groaned and put his head in his hands. 

“Man, I really gotta jog a different route,” he pulled down the bandanna covering his face, he wore a thick but short beard underneath, he was visibly mopping up his drool with a gloved hand. “My PT is going to kick my ass if I cave but fuck that smells good. I coulda sworn I smelt it a block away, made me dizzy.” 

“This?” Castiel held up the pastry. 

The man took a whiff and groaned. “So fucking sweet, I’m getting a fucking boner just looking at it.” 

Because it was Central Park, New York and Castiel was a police officer, he inched a little further away from the dessert perv. 

“Sammy’ll understand right? I mean I hired him as my trainer but he’s still my brother, project contracts notwithstanding, he won’t kill me over a dessert would he?” 

“That would be murder,” Castiel stated helpfully. “Which is a crime. I am an off duty police officer, I could protect you, with the law.” 

The man snorted a laugh despite his moral despair. “Yeah buddy, you’re gonna save me, with your uh law.” 

Castiel nodded firmly, then decided that whatever dilemma his new acquaintance was facing, the sun was slowly melting the icing on his birthday treat and really he ought to just finish it off. He opened his mouth to take a huge bite but a hand was suddenly on his forearm. Castiel narrowed his eyes, his muscles tensing for a fight. 

“How much you want for it?” 

“What?”

“I’ll pay you for the Cronut, oh shit, I don’t have any cash on me,” the jogger patted down his pants, taking out an Amex Card. “Any chance you’ll take this?” 

“I haven’t seen an Amex that’s black,” Castiel was fascinated. “Do people often believe it’s real?” 

There was a sigh. “Alright, just one bite, for like whatever you want.” 

“You don’t have anything I want,” Castiel said, baffled. “Am I supposed to want something from you?”

The man whipped his sunglasses off his face. He had dazzlingly green eyes and pretty freckles over the bridge of his nose. “My name is Dean, hi.” 

Dean looked like he was expecting some sort of reaction from Castiel. Castiel returned his meaningful stare for a long moment, and then unsure what Dean was expecting him to do, politely settled for a formal “Hello Dean.” 

“Oh,” Dean began to blush at the greeting. “Uh, huh, sorry, this hasn’t happened to me in a while, years actually. Just gimme a minute.” 

“No one said hello to you for years?” Castiel was ever more perplexed and now he was feeling sorry for Dean. Dean who was wearing super baggy hoodies with obscure symbols and strange shoes. Dean who didn’t have any cash for food and looked like he might sink his mouth over Castiel’s dessert and swallow it whole. Dean who looked a little bit confused, with his wide blown pupils and flaring nostrils. 

“No, of course not, just no one’s not recognised me for years,” Dean gasped out. “Wow that sounds conceited.” 

“Am I supposed to recognise you?” Castiel glanced at Dean again. “I mean, the only people I’m supposed to recognise are wanted criminals. In the vicinity of Maine. As I am outside of my usual jurisdiction, I’m afraid I don’t know who you are.” 

Dean laughed in exasperation. “Huh, yeah, no, not a criminal. Played some but not right now. Hey buddy, look, one man to another, can I have a bite? I’ve had nothing but kale and celery juice this morning and I’ve run like three miles. And you ... your pastry ... smells like heaven. I gotta have some, I just haveta.” 

“It’s my birthday,” Castiel heard himself blurt out to the stranger. “I purchased this to celebrate my birthday.” 

“Oh, okay, congratulations, I guess,” Dean said ineloquently, his eyelashes fluttering as he looked at Castiel’s lap with intense focus, where the bag with the unsheathed Cronut sat. “Happy birthday, how old are you?” 

“40 at the stroke of midnight,” Castiel said. 

“Right, so uh, how about a birthday gift, from me,” Dean said scratching the back of his head. 

The wind stirred the leaves in the trees, Dean cursed an apology and with a ‘damnitsofuckinggood’ sunk his face over the dessert and took a big enough bite to break the pastry in two. His cheeks were bulging as his head came up and Castiel warred with the contrary urge to press assault on an off-duty officer charges and the opposing impulse to hold Dean’s rounded scruffy cheeks in the palms of his hands. Dean closed his eyes and suppressed sounds of bliss, swallowing with an effort and smiling shyly when he had ingested his stolen treasure. 

“So uh, now I um, owe you one,” Dean tilted his head. His hand was on the back of the bench, his fingertips almost touching Castiel’s shoulder. “How about a um birthday um kiss?” 

Castiel blinked rapidly and Dean scooched a little closer. His head inclined some more, like he was trying to work out the best way to angle the kiss. All Castiel could think about was scruffy stranger and how soft or hard might that beard feel. Then Dean’s eyes fluttered shut and Castiel sighed when Dean pressed their lips together. 

It wasn’t exactly an electrifying kiss at first. It started warm and soft and Dean tasted like hazelnut spread and creamy butter and Castiel’s heart was suddenly beating like a hummingbird. Then his pulse sounded like drums in his ears and the rush of his blood to his groin was sudden and painful and made him want to rut. There was a storm of lightning touches where Dean’s hand pressed over his heart. Maybe it was a robbery and Dean could channel a taser via his mouth. Maybe it was a New York scam, where Dean had sprayed himself with the sweetest imitation of omega nectar. Maybe he’d been run over by one of those horse-drawn carriages that carried tourists around Central Park, and that’s why his whole body felt pounded to a smoosh. He was too hot, too cold, too on fire, too frozen, too close to coming and going out of his brain with desire at once. 

Then Dean pulled back, swore some more (‘happyfuckingbirthdayohmyfuckwhatamidoing’) and ran away. Literally ran up the path, leaping over the azalea bush, darting past the weeping cherries, running like he was being chased by hellhounds up the street, down the block, past the cab rank, out of sight. 

Castiel sat dumbfounded. The Cronut didn’t taste nearly as good as the kiss did but he ate it anyway, hoping for some trace of Dean’s taste on the sugary flakes. 

How was he ever going to want to eat anything (that wasn’t Dean) again? 

How was he ever going to find Dean again? 

It had been a magical, accursed, dreadful, apocalyptic birthday kiss. Castiel went back to his hotel room (Gabe’s apartment was too full of mess and ballerinas), turned on the television and let whatever movie was trending on Netflix play. He had a shower and went to bed early since he felt the unusual and desperate urge to masturbate. He wasn’t really watching the television as he quietly stroked his cock and licked his lips, trying to relive that sensational kiss. 

Then he heard it, a familiar voice, deeper, hoarser, digitised. 

“Call me batman,” said the masked man. 

Castiel’s eyes snapped open. He stared at the television screen. He fumbled for the remote. He depressed the information button. ‘Batman Reincarnate’, said the little strip of info text, ‘starring acclaimed action man D. Winchester’. Somehow, with one hand grazing his treacherous flesh and the other hitting random buttons on the remote, he brought up the ‘MORE LIKE THIS’ screen. 

There were pages and pages. DC movies, Marvel films, television series, romantic comedies, blockbusters, arthouse features. And on every thumbnail, in profile, front on, eyes glowing, face masked, hair windswept, mouth pouting, airbrushed (except in cold hard daylight he had been just as beautiful) and dramatically lit, was park kiss guy. Dessert pilferer. Gorgeous vagabond. Dean. 

Castiel checks out the two R rated offerings Dean had starred in. It was apparently a very popular film franchise where Dean was a playboy Alpha who seduces a naive but passionate omega to becomes his submissive. And since Castiel was never going to see Dean again, he lets his hands wander and cup and caress and press beneath the sheets. The omega weeps and sighs and giggles on the screen as Dean’s character knots her with ropes and, well, his knot. It wasn’t all that explicit, but the suggestion of moving bodies and facial close up was enough for Castiel to come three times before the end credits rolled. He drifted off to sleep with blaring instrumental music and the sound of languorous whips. 

It was a strange way to spend his 40th birthday. 

But not as strange as waking up with the name of Hollywood’s hottest film star on his chest, apple green over his heart. 

In the bathroom, in the harsh light of dawn, Castiel took a photo and sent it to his brother. With the accompanying text “I hope he is not very famous.” 

Gabriel laughed for about an hour.


	2. Chapter 2

Just a quick update to let you know the sequel Knotting Hill has posted https://archiveofourown.org/works/19113745 

Sorry I couldn’t continue it here as this is a fic for a writing challenge. The new link will be updated with all future chapters for this fic.

Thank you!

**Author's Note:**

> This fic has been expanded into a longer WIP called Knotting Hill https://archiveofourown.org/works/19113745


End file.
